#my drafts are the darkest place on the internet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

love-peterparker · 3 years

Text

In Extremis || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After the reveal of Spider-Man’s secret identity and the release of Quentin Beck’s murder video, there isn’t a lot going right for Peter Parker. But he has you.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, protests and rallies, mentions of murder, a gun that is never shot, and some hair description for Y/N for plot purposes (but it should still be generic enough).

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m first a Captain America and Agent Carter fan, and I wanted to recreate what makes their relationship so special, but with Peter and Y/N… ‘cuz I also love Peter Parker. I really loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, thanks to @marvelouspeterparker, @sinisterspidey (she actually has a blurb called I’ll Follow You and it builds off of Spider-Man’s identity reveal) and @stuckonspidey for answering my anon asks for general writing tips and Peter’s character. And @spideyspeaches with her kind words after reading one of the final drafts of this fic. Lastly, a special thanks to @peterbenjiparker encouraging me with this fic and for making me so emotional with her series Invisible String (Read this!... but only if your heart can take it) that I needed to write something. This story has nothing to do with it, but it does make some small generic references to her fic, and I would like to think that Y/N and Peter are soulmates in this story.

***

This takes place in a universe where a FFH-esque identity reveal happens when Y/N and Peter are young adults.

***

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

Peter rarely admits it, but you say it all the time. When you hit a dead end in the Avenger’s database. When checking for your gun before leaving another safehouse. When reaching for him in the dark of night.

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

It had been over a year since Peter’s identity as Spider-Man was revealed and the dubious video of Quentin Beck’s murder was released. But it felt like a lifetime.

These two Peter problems were like ivy. They rooted, twisted, and spread. Winding into chokeholds around their victims.

But heroes knew how to play with fire.

Peter’s identity was dealt with in a straightforward fashion. Plenty villains who would do anything to exact revenge on Spider-Man, but they would have to find Peter Parker and identify his loved ones first. And for someone like Peter? Well, it was going to take some time.

To you, Peter was lifegiving. A shining ray of golden hope. You fell to sleep and rose to press kisses into his face. To cherish and hold. To share tears. But to the world, or even New York City? He was a nobody, one who couldn’t even hold a steady job.

You all worked fast while the wicked played catch-up. The Avengers searched and wiped all, but ultimately little personal information Peter had on the internet, as well anything that might connect him to your shared inner circle. Everyone was given an Avenger’s signal watch. And both you and May opted to move as a precaution. May to Brooklyn. You to Avenger’s Tower.

The case of Quentin Beck’s murder was a much more grinding process. Through polished superhero reputations, the lawyers secured an Avenger’s Tower house arrest during court proceedings. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Peter’s favor was gathered. Press conferences were held. Speeches were given. And when it all seemed like it was too much for too long, you and Peter would lie in bed, arms and legs entangled, whispering that everything would turn out all right. Good will win. You just had to keep going.

It was taxing, but not impossible. And just when you all thought you were pulling at the end of the thread with the jury in your favor, the ground beneath you crumbles into nothingness. You spiral and crash into a labyrinth, lush and high-walled. Maybe this was the way out- oh wait, you’ve been here- or have you? You all turn and turn only to face a new dead end. A new set of incriminating videos were released. Spider-Man’s videos took the spotlight, but videos of Wanda and Bucky were also revealed. The streets of New York bustled in whispers.

Can we really trust these heroes? What if these videos are the truth?

And what happens when these powerful people think they are right when they are wrong?

When public protests against Earth’s heroes sprouted and jury members started to disappear, it was clear that the whoever or whatever was behind this had greater motives and powerful allies. It was time to buy time.

Everyone had tried to convince Peter to go into hiding somewhere else. Anywhere else. He had enough super-friends where anywhere was possible. Lay low while everyone else above ground scrambled to unweave this massive web of lies. But Peter was infuriatingly adamant that New York, regardless of her wavering loyalties, was his to protect.

So two months ago, he started bouncing around New York City, investigating when he could, and making polarizing headlines with every swing he took.

You tried to continue as if Peter was still by your side. After being terminated from your junior journalist job for “suspect ties to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man became your mission. You originally attended press conferences and rallies as moral support, but after Peter’s first awkward mumbles of a speech, it was painfully clear that he needed a new voice. The public herself needed a normal person who interacted with superheroes. Who better than Spider-Man’s girlfriend? But after the last kidnapping attempt and the Avengers’ numbers shrinking, it was clear that this wouldn’t last. The world now knew who you were too.

The thick ivy had caught up, and you were on fire.

But to hell with it because there was no universe where you would be leaving this nightmare without him. So the next time you looked in the mirror, you donned short red hair and heavy eyeliner.

Days were spent questioning possible witnesses. Nights were spent in the light of a computer. And when you could barely drag yourself to continue, moments were spent staring at your beautiful boy’s picture. He needed you.

You had only heard from him twice since he went into hiding, though there were a few times answered unknown number calls would lead to abstract rustling and distinct web shooter noises. To those, you always whispered “I love you,” before hanging up.

That was until last night, when you noticed small slip of paper in the crack of the window of the safehouse you had been staying at. Only a time and an address were written, in messy, but undeniably Parker script.

You spent the next day visiting arbitrary places in the Bronx, trying to determine if anyone was following you and collecting items in an unsuspecting backpack.

It was a balancing act between comfort and practicalities. An extra stealth suit. A waterproof jacket you both shared. Protein bars. Extra web fluid and a first-aid kit. A hefty wad of cash, just in case. And in the smallest pocket, things to help him in the darkest days to come. Letters from you, May, Ned, and your other friends. A few packs of gummy bears. And a picture of you and him, laughing in Central Park on one of your many dates. Sunlight casting halos on your heads. Bright. Carefree. Brimming with love.

Your heart cried and cried and cried, begging for those days.

But they were gone. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, so were the people in that picture.

You travelled to the building location and made your way to the rooftop. Rows and rows of white sheets were hung, all whipping in the wind to dry.

A small smile graced your lips. You had to hand it to him. He was smart.

You folded yourself into one of the corners of the rooftop, gun in hand and waited. Eerie silence slowly lulling you to…

You woke up to the soft footsteps, sleepy eyes registering a shadowy figure behind one of the bedsheets.

“Hans?” you whispered, pointing your gun with a finger on the trigger.

“Leia,” the figured replied, equally hushed. The shadow lifted the curtain. It took a second to register, but it was really him. You raced towards each other, quick hold each other, beaming. Today, you existed in the same place at the same time.

“That was so stupid. I can’t believe you got me to do that,” you laughed, pressing your face into him, holding him tightly as if he could disappear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, you loved it!” he quipped. You hummed in appreciation.

“True, but I love you more.” His eyes brightened at your confession, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I know.” You shook your head, smiling at his response before turning your head and taking in who he had become. Gone were the luxurious curls, replaced with a buzzcut. A pair of fake glasses perched on his nose in further attempts to conceal his identity. Hallowed eyes. His skin tinted gray from the stress. You ran your fingers through the fuzz on his head, massaging his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, eyes fluttering shut, with hands reaching to caress yours.

“You cut your hair.”

“You did too.” His fingers danced in the ends of your own tresses. A sad smile furnished your face.

“It had to be done,” you replied, before pressing your lips to his cheek and gently removing yourself from his embrace to get your laptop. “We need to get started. We’ve found a lot since you left.”

With his head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours, and your laptop on your lap, you recounted the on-going investigation to him. The deep web that just kept going and going. Your theories and suspects. And when that was done, you kept talking. How Aunt May and his friends were fine but missing him. How the remaining Avengers were fairing. Peter was oddly quiet, sharing only a few thoughts here and there, but you attributed it to his weariness.

As the sun continued to dip, the silences between sentences stretched, but you mustered more words. As if your sentences were the delicate string that grounded him to you.

“Y/N,” he interrupted. You looked at him and hummed in reply. He began playing with your fingers, eyes never meeting your own. “I love you more than I ever I thought I could, and I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done. And you’ve done so much. Like, I don’t know if I would have even made it this far without you, but here you are, and well, you can’t keep doing this.” You cocked your head, before shaking your head, hair rustling.

“What? Peter, we are getting somewhere! I just need to visit the-“ He lets go of your hand, fingers clenching into trembling fists.

“No, no more visits. No more investigating. This can’t be your life. When this started, we thought there was a way out. But it’s been over a year. Clearly whoever or whatever is doing this won’t stop until we’re all gone. This may never stop. I can’t have you throwing away your life for me. Hell, I don’t even know when I’ll see you aga-“

“Peter,” you cut him off, your voice pitched lower in concern, “Where is this coming from? We’re gonna make it. It is just a matter of-”

“I can’t give you what you deserve! I’m Spider-Man, so we don’t get to have a house and two kids! We get this-, this fucking disaster! I live like this because I have to. I don’t get a choice. And you shouldn’t be stupid enough where you are doing the same thing!”

Your mouth fell open, ready to spit back poison when he looked at you. It was in his eyes. Behind the falling tears and redness was the glint of insecurity that Peter had always carried. This was the child whose parents died. The teenager who didn’t stop his Uncle Ben from getting killed. Who held Tony Stark in his last moments. The man who was on the run.

The hero who would never stop giving to a world who would never stop taking.

Your thoughts frenzied. If you held on to him too tightly, he would resist. The more he would thrash, determined to save you while slowly sacrificing himself until there was nothing left. Your brain was frozen, so your heart gave you the words-

“Marry me.”

Peter’s eyes widen before retracting into a tight furrow, scrunching his nose.

“What?! No! Did you not hear anything I just said-“

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. The one thing you never get to doubt in the world is us. So, I’m gonna ask you again; will you,” you took his hand, went to one knee, and let your voice soften as you held his gaze, “Peter Parker, marry me?”

You both bathed in silence. His chocolate doe eyes boring straight into yours, searching for truth. The thought that maybe you had gone about this the wrong way started to crawl into your mind, but then a smile slowly creeped onto his face, bright red with blush. More salt-water pooled in his eyes. He pulled you into a near lung-constricting embrace, smothering wet kisses into every inch of your face. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could practically hear his thoughts as you basked in each kiss. I missed you. I love you. And oh my god, you’re here to stay.

“What did I ever-, I have no idea know what I ever did to ever deserve you.” A smirked formed on your lips.

“Is that a yes?” The gold stars in his eyes shined at your playfulness. There was the man you always loved.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes. I do, Mrs. Parker,” he said pulling you in for a passionate kiss. And you both stayed there, melting into the ground beneath you. Breathing each other in as moments passed. Tender “I love you’s” flowing generously from both of your lips. As if the world had vanished and all that existed was you and him, and him and you, and this understanding that this, this was a love until death do you part.

Peter was the one to break the string of kisses, leaving you to chase his lips before touching his forehead with your own. His breath hot on your face. “I- , if you go to my lab there is a secret compartment. In my desk. The code is your birthday. I was going to ask you myself, but then, well… this.” You chuckled as he stumbled on his words.

“I’ll get it as soon as I can.” You both leaned in to close the gap again when a cacophony of sirens and lights echoed in the streets below.

Frustration filled Peter’s eyes as he sat up. “Shit. I-, I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?” You let out a shallow breath, but quickly forced a smile.

“Go get’em.” And with the whip of his webs, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, taking in the new quiet. Your fingers graced your lips, still warm with the memory of his. A lightness had settled in your chest, and with every breathe you could feel it pulse stronger.

Because no matter what it took, no matter how long the wait, there was two things for certain.

He was going to protect the city. And you were going to save your husband.

#In Extremis #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

91 notes · View notes

galemalio · 6 years

Text

Title: Rift

Summary: Mickey always blamed himself for the rift between him and Donald. For not being there for Donald during WW2. For not convincing Walt harder to get drafted too. So he tries his best to be a better friend after that. Like keeping him out of trouble by convincing him not to join protests in 2018. Because Disney Studios moves safely in involving itself with political matters. But there are some things Mickey couldn't understand in Donald's world that’s bigger than Disney Studios.

Author’s Note: After running into so many news about the current events in the US, I’ve always wondered how Donald Duck would react to it. After all, he was “drafted” in 1942 to fight against the Nazis. He would have a far different experience and views from Mickey who Walt refused to get involved with war propaganda.

It was like reasoning with a wall. A feathered, stomping wall.

“Donald, you know how they feel about this,” Mickey still attempted. He ducked. An icebox flew. It crashed right into the living room. More scrapings ensued in the closet where it came from.

He straightened up again slowly, arms crossed over his head. In case more heavy objects decided to defy gravity. “They don’t like it when we get involved with controversies.”

Donald just soldiered past him, his bill pressed into a firm stubborn line. He grabbed the icebox and went to the kitchen. Mickey followed. He watched Donald upend ice cube trays into the ice box.

“You know what Walt would say if he was still alive?” Mickey asked. He didn’t miss how Donald paused. How Donald bashed the ice cubes out of the tray with renewed aggression. The duck flung open the refrigerator door.

“He’d say we’re here to bring magic,” he said louder over the water bottles now being dumped into the icebox. “Donald!” he grabbed Donald’s wrist to stop him from tuning him out. “Whatcha want to do is great and all. But there are other ways to help without complicating things for everybody.”

Donald snatched his wrist away, his eyes burning with weight that was ready to fly off the handle. Instead, he grabbed the filled icebox and turned his back on Mickey.

Mickey’s mouth hung open. Donald was obviously irate. When Donald is irate, he would be ranting. Which would make him more gibberish. Which would make him less understandable. Which would just add fuel to his fire.

But underneath his own confusion, there was a stinging twinge at Donald’s dismissal. He could feel it again. The rift between them. It was beyond the clash of their personalities that had labelled them as an odd couple. A curious disconnect that had stretched for more than 70 years.

Then talk to me, Donald! He wanted to shout. Walt had always said Donald is his problem child. Mickey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I want to join protests too. I want to do the good. But this is messy.” He went around to face Donald again. “We’ll find another way to help,” he said with a hopeful smile. Hope that he got through to Donald. Hope that Donald realizes the weight they carry as Walt’s children. Hope that for once, Donald would listen.

Donald only walked past him and disappeared in the closet again. Mickey wanted to tear his own ears off. Ever since Donald’s creation back in 1930s, Donald never recognizes Mickey’s responsibility in being in charge -in and out of the set.

“Amy will be harder on you after this,” he said. Amy was Donald’s newest handler. Donald was usually a tired, passive slacker. Until he goes off. After that, it’s a battle of wills with a duck that had mastered bullheadedness into perfection. Eighty years could do that.

Donald didn’t answer. He just placed the first aid kit beside the icebox. Mickey gaped at it. Donald, as a toon, hardly needs that. Toons were pretty much indestructible. “What does Daisy think about this?” Mickey asked.

“She. Un. Der. Stands,” he grounded out, each syllable a heel grinding pointfully on Mickey.

Mickey frowned, meeting his eyes. That was unfair. Here he was trying to communicate with someone who’s shutting him out and he was the one who couldn’t understand him?

I should’ve been there for him, he thought in frustration. Should’ve tried harder with Walt. I could’ve convinced him. I would’ve been there for him.

Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve.

Mickey closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once he had asked Walt why Donald couldn’t just be good. Everything you are, he isn’t, Walt had confided. Everything he is, you aren’t.

“Who are you going with?” Mickey asked.

Donald looked away and his shoulders fell with a huff. In his own Donaldy-way, it was his form of regret. For that, Mickey forgave him.

“I’m going with José and Panchito,” he offered in a gruff non-apology apology.

Mickey tried to ignore the surge of jealousy. Panchito and José have helped Donald from his darkest times after World War 2. Something he nor Goofy couldn’t get Donald out of.

He chastised himself. At least they made Donald smile back in those days when Mickey could only watch as Donald spiralled. Panchito and José could be controversial -smoking and gunning and sleeping around. But the two birds were good for Donald. He remembered how Donald would disappear to Brazil or Mexico at least once a year. Perhaps, even too good.

“They want to be there for the immigrants,” Donald said. Mickey quickly wiped away any emotion his face might betray. He wondered if Donald saw right through his shameful jealousy. He was supposed to be a good friend. Someone who’s purely happy for him.

Donald took his placard from its resting place. His fingers slid down the freshly dried paint, its message bold and clear.

“Mickey… remember when Goofy and I got drafted?”

Mickey startled. Donald never talked about the war. Never wanted to. Mickey placed his hands over his. Just as he predicted, Donald moved his hands away, still holding the sign.

“I wanted to be drafted too,” Mickey quietly said. His ears lowered. “But Walt wouldn’t let me.”

Another closeted flaw he kept to himself. While Goofy was only a posterboy in bombardment squads, Donald was more involved in the war. Aside from the propaganda films, Donald actually served.

But at what cost?

The stormier eyes. The heightened sensitivity to sudden noises. (Grenades, he told himself. It was those goshdarned grenades.) The defeated weariness after there was nothing left to destroy in his fits of anger. The directors thought it was funny. Mickey had trusted Walt.

In a way, Walt did help Donald. He brought him along to his diplomatic missions in Latin America where Donald first met José. Then Panchito. Mickey wished Donald had gotten psychiatric help sooner instead.

“I should’ve convinced him harder to let me get drafted too,” Mickey said, his voice dropping into a whisper. The room seemed to get colder as he pulled out his own confessional like pulling out his teeth with a rusty hook. “It should’ve been us together: Mickey, Donald and Goofy. Like we always do.”

And maybe then, you wouldn’t have to face the war alone, he thought, a bitter taste invading the back of his throat.

Donald dryly stared at him as though Mickey couldn’t see it.

See what?! Mickey wanted to scream. This wasn’t the first time Donald had looked at him laconically like he was a little kid. A little kid who couldn’t tell apart real life from cartoons. Whenever Mickey gave thought about Donald, the duck was stimulatingly, frustratingly a bag of contradictions. Selfish and selfless. Apathetic and passionate. But self-absorbed and aware at the same time?

But he was Mickey Mouse. He didn’t rage or scream. That was Donald’s thing. Instead, he only felt lost. He was usually the one who shows Donald how to be happy. But when did bliss became ignorance?

“You’re his golden boy,” Donald opened the first aid kit and counted the gauze. There was no resentment. No jealousy. Just weariness from living with the facts. “Walt would never be convinced to get you tainted by reality.”

Mickey held his arm as if covering a sting.

“Walt meant well,” Mickey said, he couldn’t help that his tone sounded protesting. “He just didn’t expect...” he shrugged, looking around. Trying to find the right word for the gray that came after. The gray that had colored Donald underneath pristine white feathers. “...Everything.”

There was something distant in Donald’s eyes as he looked at Mickey. Like he was watching a bird fly because that’s what birds do.

“No point regretting what wasn’t done,” Donald said, eyeing the amount of antiseptic in a bottle. Mickey got the feeling he wasn’t only talking about him not getting drafted.

“Donald,” Mickey grabbed his arm. This was it. “I wasn’t there to share what you’ve been through-”

Donald tried to shrug him off, looking confused. “I never wanted you to.”

But Mickey held on. “-and I’m trying to be a better friend-”

“What?!”

“-that’s why I don’t want you to get into trouble.” Mickey could already imagine the internet wars following the protests where Donald, Panchito and José would be seen. With Donald’s temper, probably lawsuits included. The PRs. The paparazzis going nuts. “The executives would let us hold charities. Give donations. Promote NGOs. Be a more positive influence without opposing anyone.”

He squeezed his arm. “Donald, things don’t always have to be messy.”

Donald leaned away. He stared at Mickey so hard, Mickey could almost see the gears grinding behind his eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not your fault,” Donald finally said.

“But Donald-”

“Nope! Nu-uh! You’re not going to make me say it, Mickey!”

“Donald, what’re you-”

“You’re a great friend! There! I said it!” Donald’s face shone firetruck red. “Don’t you dare try any harder or you’ll drive me up the wall!”

Mickey stood there frozen, trying to understand what was happening. Donald only looked at him frustratingly, silently blaming him at the turn of their conversation.

“Does that mean you’ll take up my offer?” Mickey asked in a small, hopeful voice that wheedled through the awkwardness between them.

Donald slapped a hand over his face. Hard. He slowly dragged it over his eyes. Then down his bill. Mickey felt like a kid who had asked an idiotic question to a parent whose patience was running thin.

But instead of throwing up his hands with an “Ah, phooey!” Donald just sighed.

“Mickey… I’ve seen what that hate,” he gestured outside, “had lead to before.“

Mickey snapped to attention. Donald spoke each word slow and deliberate to be understandable over his speech impediment. Donald never had the patience for it before.

Donald picked up his icebox and first aid kit, his sign tucked under his arm. “This is another war and I’m going to fight it.” A shadow crossed his face that Mickey could only imagine what it was. “Before it gets bloody…. Bloodier than last time.”

Before he could walk away, Mickey grabbed his hand. Donald glanced at it before looking at Mickey.

“I can’t be there with you,” Mickey said quietly. Rough with anguish at what he must do. Or rather what he mustn’t do.

Donald only smiled as though once again, he was expecting this. “I know.”

Mickey could almost feel the “child-friendly” bounds keeping him at place. It was what Walt would’ve wanted for him. He tried to smile back.

Donald laughed at his attempt. His smile must’ve looked like he was grinding broken glass under his palm.

“Ah, phooey!” His webbed foot kicked imaginary dust. Donald slipped his hand away from his, looking anywhere but at Mickey’s unbearably conflicted face. “The kids still need you. Away from all of this,” Donald waved his hand.

Mickey just hung his head and Donald thought harder.

“This time, I won’t really be alone,” he finally said. “Don’t worry ‘bout me!”

They suddenly hear a car honk in the beat of the Cucaracha.

Donald’s face lit up with a smile that could challenge the sun. “Panchito! José!” He was gone in a puff of dust. Mickey didn’t need to see them to know that they’re in a happy tangle of hugs with a confusing showering of Portuguese-Spanglish.

Mickey watched them by the door. There was still a rift between them. An abyss that Mickey couldn’t cross. Walt meant so much to him that he would always follow Walt’s wish. Donald had understood that longer. However, above that abyss, there was now a connection firmly taut between them.

He watched them all shout, “The Three Caballeros!” He felt that surge of jealousy again. This time, it was fainter. There was an acceptance with the fact that at least Panchito and José wouldn’t just be there to pick up the pieces like last time. They would have his back.

Donald gave him one last glance and Mickey finally gave him a genuine smile, waving. Panchito and José waved back. They drove off, their picket signs sticking out of their car.

As long as Donald wouldn’t be alone in the other side of the rift, Mickey took comfort that he would be okay.

Author’s Notes: Alright, most of you may not like where Mickey had stood in here. But Mickey is the face of Disney who always do what’s right for his Disney kingdom. He would always choose the pacifist way first until it no longer works. Donald, who has a slight disregard for rules, would’ve set for a more confrontative path.

#disney #donald duck #mickey mouse #panchito pistoles #josé carioca #the three caballeros

68 notes · View notes

faithsummers11 · 6 years

Text

Love never dies❤

A/N:- Hey!!! Guess what it's my birthday but that's not important what's important is that its harry's birthday. Well it's a different story that it's on the same day. So what im going to do is post a lots and lots of harry i have like 3 already in my drafts, so stay tuned.

Well someone requested me to write a oneshot about harry where "he's your friend for long time but then he finally deside to break the boundaries and make you his" but apparently i have written somewere similar to this plot oneshot about Niall so i decided to mix it up with another request well it's not a request something my sis wants me to write "where you are celebrity friends turned patners with some jelous harry and a bit of celeb drama"

Both of them are anyway cheesy but i thought I'll give it a go, so this is what i came up with i hope you guys like it. Sorry tht it's quite long. And Again english is not my first language so pardon me for any mistakes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Umm.. I just wanted to ask like.. Umm... only if you're ok with it... will you be my like.. girlfriend" he asked with a bit nervousness "I think we should start it off with a friendship before getting into a relationship " i said politely denying his offer and forwarding a hand of friendship which he gladly shook. That event to today's day is something I'm utterly proud of and most regreted moment of my entire life

Oh how much i love him only if i could tell him this is the exact reason i regret rejecting him back then, it's not like i didn't like him back then, i did but we were kids he was 16 i was 15, if we would have got into a relationship back than then we would have ended even before we started, moreover i was just starting my career and so was he, i didn't wanted to go out of focus. But now that I've my roots in this industry and been so close to him that i even know his deepest darkest secreats, seen him in his most vulnerable state i have found myself fallen for him so hard that it was getting impossible to get up. But he probably was over that thing and was happy with the friendship we had, and had a lot of not-so-long relationship, not to mention he was now The Harry Styles who had millions of girls dieing for him.

"Mam the car is ready " my driver told me taking me out of my own world. I quickly grabbed my clutch and headed towards the car, i was going to this party which was held to celebrate all the sucessful music and movies of the year and i had been invited to, it was all celeb part so everyone was coming and being one of renowned name in both music and movie industry i was hell bent instructed to go, i quickly slipped into the car, and the driver started heading towards the destination.

As i was looking out of the window all the memories come back to me. It all started at the x-factor i was a selected to perfom as a celebrity performer with the boys, taking i only had one album out and was just starting my career i wasn't supposed to be there but considering that i worked for Simon's lable got me as a celebrity performer, i spend 4 days with the boys we got along so well, we also wrote copule of songs and performed a very orignal track on the show, which everyone tend to fall in love with. Especially Simon

After the performance was when harry proposed me and i said a no but fate had something saved for me since I worked with Simon's lable, Simon liking the song which me and the boys came up with, got me hooked with the boys. "I really like the chemistry " was what simon said and there after i was like the 6th member of the band. We went on tours together we shared arenas first day they performed 2 days later i performed in the same arena, we literally shared same crew same management and same hotel.

We travelled together, sneaked out of places together, pranked and drinked together, every thing i did they were with me, every thing they did i was with them this whole thing got us all together i became so close to the boys, zayn was like a brother to me, Louis was the patner in crime, liam was the gym buddy, niall and harry were the idiot friends, but out of all of them harry has always been the closest. Our friendship was something everyone idolized all the directioners love all the vedios i posted of all the nonsense we did, they also like it and considered me a part of them. Did i ever mentioned this made me one of the songwriters on a copule lot of their songs.

But this was only till their 4th album 'Four' was set to release and my tour for my 4th album was about to get over, that i decided to leave Simon's record lable, i was working on my 5th album and due to my work in a movie i was getting a lot more movies offer, but Simon wanted me to forget about acting, which triggered . Me truely speaking the management was already bitchy about every thing and controlled every thing we did and when simon added that i made a final decision and then realeased my 5th album under Capitol records. Well even after that i was friends with them we still used to do get together & meet ups when everthing started going wrong zayn left the band and they didn't actually talked after that but he was still a friend of mine he even introduced me to his now girlfriend Gigi and the boys went on break and all went solo well that was their decision and that never changed anything I've always been there for them if they needme, me and harry are still the closest I still run up to him even at 3 in the morning if he needs me. Only niall is been really flirty nowadays.

"We're here " my driver announced snapping me out of my flashback, i quickly had a look at the mirror and prepared myself for the flashing cameras.

The moment i stepped out all the cameras flashed i heard my name been called from different directions. Even if it was a party it had some kind of red carpet. I possed for the cameras for some time and moved forward where a lot of people were interviewed, i was making my way when a interviewer caught me he asked me about my upcoming movie and about my tour for the current album but then what he asked was something i wasn't prepared for. "So y/n what do you think about harry styles and (anyone you want)'s breakup? "

"Oh umm.. I don't know.. I mean what can i say .... there decision i say.... Ya. Umm i don't know"

"You are his closest friend as he say, so do you think you will now have a chance with him, cause trust me no this a lot of people out there ship you two, do you like him?"

This question by the interviewer got me, i cannot help the blush that creeped on to my cheeks it took all in me to not to scream in his face about how happy i was with the breakup and how much i loved him "umm.. Well we are just friends " was all i said before leaving.

I was glad i was inside, i quickly grabbed a drink and found a group of friends who i got into a conversation with. I was in a conversation when i heard someone call my name, i turned to see it was niall standing in a corner with harry, ed And ed's girlfriend. I excused myself and went over to them i greated every one with smile and hugs, being in this industry for 8-9 years now i was friend with everyone i knew, ed being close one again because of harry, he was close to harry and so to me.

"Hey mate how you doing ". i asked niall getting out of his warm hug.

"Nothing much, just the album and stuff, btw what about you heard you got paired with Rayan Gosling for your upcoming movie, you must be dying happy isn't he your celebrity crush" Niall said all exited

"Yep he is, you know when i came to know about he being my patner, i truely lost my shit i was jumping around my entire house like a crazy maniac " everyone busted out laughing on how exited i was, ofcourse it was like a dream come true for me.

"Looks like you've been stalking her niall " harry kinda snapped

"Umm.. No mate it's all over the internet i was just happy for her and a..." Niall said but was cut by harry "Dosen't matter mate it's ok don't bother me about it, she has already worked with some legends in the industry that dosen't change her winny self, stop thinking of yourself like god y/n" harry said more like dissed me i was expecting a congrats but he was acting a bit bitchy towards me lately ever since the last meet at award show some days ago. He didn't picked up my calls or spoke to me without throwing shade at me, and he being rude hurted me to hell, cause it was the last thing i wanted i loved him beyond belief i couldn't have afforded the loss of our friendship at any cost.

Ed probably senced that he being the only one who knows my feelings for him, spoke " wohh mate easy there you being rude now, you two share the best friendship i know so plzz now" "Whatever " harry said rolling his eyes. I was literally holding back tears at this point.

Just than Charlie puth came up "Hey Y/N, here you are, hey guys i hope you are doing fine, sorry to disturb you but can i just borrow your friend for a minute just need to talk some business" charlie said excusing both of us. I was so thankful to him about it cause if i would have stayed there a minute more i would've bursted into tears.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry's p.o.v:-

She left with Charlie with sad and teary eyes, not as her cheerful self, not as she arrived i knew i made her sad, and i hate myself for doing that, i can't belive i was doing that to her, she has been by my side whenever i needed her, without any ulterior motives she never did that because she wanted to sleep with me or for my fame, she was more famous than me at the end.

I don't know what I'm doing but if I've to get over her this is the only way, she has me crazy about her but don't seem to wanna be mine. She has this effect on me ever since we first met, i love her since then, and my love for her dosen't seem to fade away even after all the years infact i found myself falling for her even more. All my attempts to get over her failed all those girls and relationship i had to get her out of my head all failed nothing ever worked, my last girlfriend i don't even wanna talk about it i litraliterally fucked her to y/n's thaught screaming y/n's name, i never spoke to her after that, but she seemed to have spilled the beans with her friends cause i remember y/n telling me about how all my ex girlfriends were acting bitchy with her, even if some of them were her good friends. She didn't saw the pattern there but i did.

This all was not my fault that i can't get over her, it was all her, she first said a no to me but became so close to me that i literally didn't felt no need of a gurd around her, she was the one who sneeked me out for some fun or ice-cream when i felt down or home sick, stayed up all night and look after me when i was not well, always been there whenever i needed someone to hold me at the depths of my despair, she was the one who soothed me when i felt down with all the hate comments. She was the one who made me feel worthy when i felt worthless, she was the one to run to me just on a phone call even 3 in the am not to share a bed with me but sit by my side and listen to all my nonsence, she was always one call away, but never let me call her mine or should i say i never got the guts to propose he again after that.

Well that's what niall said, i remember the award show we attended some days ago Niall was flirting with her the whole time, which got my blood boil so after the show i cornered him wanting an answer

"What the fuck are you doing niall!??"

"What mate what's wrong??"

"Why were you flirting with y/n the whole time??, your eyes never left her " I bit yelled at his face.

"Whohh mate chill down there i was just trying, ya know i kinda like her and ya see she is single im trying mate "

"Stop then! Stop trying your luck ok you ain't getting her keep your distance from he.." i was cut off

" Or what will you do, see mate i know you have feelings for her but, mate i have waited for you to make a move long enough now, you ain't doing anything, i mean.. Have you seen y/n she is one of the biggest names in the industry, beautiful like no other, purest soul with heart of gold and hot as hell, hotness drips down every inch of her body, c'mon mate every man wants her. And I'm no different, if you don't have the guts to confess your love to the closest person to you not my fault mate, being your friend I'll suggest you mave a move before someone else get her or just forget her"

Niall left me with no word he was right, i couldn't even count how many men have showed intrest in her, I just wanted to go tell her but then all the bond we had i feared losing it, feared losing our friendship, but still i don't know why but i decided to go the other way and try to forget her. Thus, ending up being everything she disslike, been all shady and bitchy, cocky little shit.

I was all in my thoughts when Niall nudged me "looks like Charlie is getting what you think is yours" he said making me look in the direction where y/n and Charlie were standing. There she was giggling and laughing her famous laugh something i died for, Charlie was saying something to her wispering in her ear being all touchy and shit, even she was laughing on with him her hand constantly on his chest or on his shoulder, sometimes going in his hairs. That seemed nothing like any business talk.

I know he was into her, how? Well Liam told me, when Liam worked with him he told me how obsessed charlie was with y/n and how he requested liam to set his meeting with her, no wonder he fancied her collaboration was just a cleaver means, for him to get to know her and by the picture i was getting he was pretty much succeeding.

I was satring at them with bloodshot eyes. My anger has taken over me now, i didn't know what i was saying or doing anymore. I didn't know when i just raged towards them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N's :- P.o.v

I was talking to Charlie, we were talking about the upcoming song that we were working on, well i know it was not just about the song I'm not a fool to not understand that he fancied me, and was trying his best to impress me, little did he know i already had my Heart for someone else, that's one of the biggest disadvantage of being single, everyone who likes you tries to hit on you, not even trying to understand once why you are single.

I have to admit that Charlie is one funny person to be around, we were just talking and he was telling some funny ass stories from his tour days, which had me laughing to death, just when i felt eyes on me and when i turned to look in the direction i saw harry's bloodshot eyes boring into me and charlie.

In my complet time of knowing harry i haven't seen this kind of rage in his eyes a mixture of anger and frustration with something which i wasn't able to put my fingure on. I turned to look at Charlie and continued talking, just a moment later i felt a hand on my shoulder it was harry, he lightly squeezed my shoulder, looking straight into my eyes, i was not able to understand what was on his mind, he looked at me and then looked at Charlie shooting him a glare.

"I hope you're done with your business talk, i want to talk to you y/n" harry said pressing the word 'business'.

"Yes harold say what you wanna talk about"

"It's abit personal, can you plzz come with me for a minu.." harry was cut off by Charlie

"Sorry mate but we aren't finished talking yet can you just wait for some time"

"Nope, y/n it's important, you are coming with me now " harry said with stern voice.

"Hey mate! you don't own her so stop making your own decision " Charlie said adding fule to harry's anger

"You're coming with me or not?" harry asked me through gritted teeths. I wasn't able to understand what was going on, why was harry so angry, my brain was trying to figure out everything, and till i could respond harry yelled "Fine" and started leaving.

"Harry wait" i called as i put my glass down and started going behind him. His anger was over the top, his normal gentlemanly behaviour was thrown out of the window, he knocked and pushed everthing and everyone in the way, when i finally caught him.

" Harry wait, what's wrong talk to me "

"None of your business " he said starting to walk away again, but i hold on to his arm and made him to stop.

"Tell me, what's bugging you, i can help"

"You cannot, just let me go "

" No way in hell are you leaving without telling me what's upp "

"Why.." Harry started his voice was raised but he quickly stopped looking around and realising we were still in the party. He grabbed a strong hold of my hand and dragged me out of the party, he was still angry i don't know why but he was, his grip on my hand was tightening not bothering of leaving marks he was dragging me from different hallways full of people, Not giving a shit about me tripping on my own legs or people watching us, till we reached the parking lot.

He opened his rover's door for me and commnded "Get in" his voice stern and angry.

"Harry for god sake are you going to tell, what's this all about, where are you taking me??"

"I SAID FUCKING GET IN" harry yelled right in my face, this scared me i know harry will never hurt me not intently, i got in the car and harry came in the drivers seat and started driving

I put my hand on his lap and started "Harry.. "

"SHUT UPP" he yelled again, slapping away my hand from his lap. I was literally on the verge of crying, his rude behaviour was killing me, but i knew not to bother him taking his yelling and rudeness in his behaviour. I kept my mouth shut for the entire ride, looking out of the window trying to figure out what i did wrong.

I was just starting out of the window remembering all the good old memories that i had with harry not even realising the tears that slipped my eyes. I wiped the tears when the car came to an halt. I realized it was harry's place. I wanted to ask him why he has brought me here, but before i can ask him any thing he was out opening my door and pulling me out and dragging me into his house and litraliterally throwing me on the floor this got anger bubble up in me, he was crossing his limits, he got me angry all pooling in my eyes.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU" harry yelled his anger out, not bothering picking me up. I quickly got up, collecting myself and yelling on top of my lungs

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??, WHY ARE YOU ACTING RUDE AND SHADY?? WHAT DID I DO?"

Harry burst a sarcastic haugh "What did you do? Stop acting innocent, you know what I'm talking about"

"Oh for fuck sake harry, keep it clear what did i do?"

"Whay are you being all slut, being all over Niall and that Charlie guy, why don't you FUCK THEM ALREADY ".

His words had venom in them i was shocked, my eyes wide in amazement.

"Why would i do that, they are just friends, and even if i do it's none of you business " i chocked the word out.

"Ohh plzz it's all my businesses, you cannot be friends with them, or go all the way flirt..."

"And do what harry, they are the only people good to me nowadays, you been shady to me, you are my best friend but you ain't even talking to me, and don't even get to me on what you said to you ex'es because even my best friends are being bitchy with me, so plzz.."

" I didn't did anything, its you all you", he said tears forming in his eyes his voice lowering . " Everthing is wrong, it's all my mistake, all because of you " harry said breaking down, his voice cracking. Fuck how rude he was, but seeing him break, ached my heart.

I went close to him took his hands in mine and calmy asked "what's it harry tell me, I'm here for you, I'll always be" he looked deep into my eyes the rage was back, my heartbeat increased, my stomach did flips, the next thing i remember he had me pinned to the nearest wall, hands above my head, his body pressed to mine, i was breathing his breath, his lips hovering over mine, my heart was beating out of my chest, harry has never been this close to me, sure we have cuddled and hugged but never been this close physically.

"I don't know but you are the only thing i want y/n , i don't know why i was shady, just cannot take you with anyone else, i can't do this anymore i want you to be mine only mine, i can't be in all the friendzone shit when all i want to do is fuck you mindlessly, go on dates with you, do all the cheesy copule shit with you, hold your hand in front of everyone and scream on top of my lungs how much i love you, i re..."

I cut him by kissing him, when our lips met all this frustration and tension was released, which both of us were holding, now i understand the emotion in his eyes it was jealousy. I was over the moon to know he felt for me the same way i did for him.

He broke the kiss and looked stright into my eyes, "So should i take that you love me the same way as i do " harry said with sparkling eyes, "ofcorse you idiot i love you too, what took you so long" harry kissed me again his lips gental yet hungry, he licked my bottom lip for entrance, i ggladly opend my lips for him to deepen the kiss,.

Soon the way to his bedroom was marked with our expensive cloths, my body was pressed under him, his naked chest pressed to mine, his hands massaged my breasts, he pinched my nipple and i yelped into his mouth, he chuckled, and trailed kisses down till he reached my breast and took my nipple in his mouth, sucking on it "you have no idea how long I've waited for this" harry said switch to my other breast, "well that goes both wayssss.." i half gaspd when his hand reached my clit and started playing with my folds "so, wet for me already aren't you?" harry said inserting his long digits into me, he started pumping in and out as he increased his pace i was a moaning mess under him, just as i thought i was close to my release he removed his hand, i wimphered at the loss, A long moan left my mouth when he sucked on his digit.

I felt him line up at my entrance "wait you don't want me to suck you off first" i asked taking him in my hand. He laid me down back pressing his tip at my entrance "we'll have a lot of time for that but now, if i don't fuck your brains out, i would probably burst " with that he pushed all the way into me, he was bigger than my imaginations, it took me some time to adjust to his size, but once igave him the green signal he went all the way from slow and steady to pounding into me relentlessly, hard and fast, he was diving me crazy. Long moans and skin slapping on skin were the only voices to be heard in the room.

I felt my orgasm fast uproching, the knot in my stomach tightned and my walls clenched around him, "let it go baby girl" harry wispered in my ear before kissing me, that was all i needed to let go. My body felt light, the plesure taking over me, my breathing heavy, when i felt twitch inside me, his pace wasn't slowing, i thrusted my hips upwards to meet his, so he can go deeper, soon i felt him spill inside me and he crashed on top of me. Heavy breaths slowing down as we were coming down from our highs.

After a minute or so harry pulled out, i wimphered at the loss, he went in the bathroom and came with a damp cloth and cleaned me. After he was done he plopped beside me and i snuggled into his chest

"You know what y/n"

"What??"

"I might know why my ex'es are being bitchy with you"

"You know??, why are they doing that?? Tell me"

"This is embarrassing, but you know i my last girlfriend.. " harry said turning to look at me

"Yep, what abot her?.."

"Umm.. I kinda fucked her.. Screaming your name"

I sat up shocked not believing my ears "No fucking way, tell me you are lying " i half chuckled and half shocked.

"Well that's true, and she seemed to have spilled the beans, and Thats why they are acting wieard with you"I laughed out loud "oh my god harry, you had so many girlfriends how am i going to deal with this " i said snuggling back into him "you really love me that much" "i love you beyond belief y/n i love you so ao much " Harry said before doseing off into deep sleep. It's truely said that love never dies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I Hope you guys like it if you like it let me know Also give me some ideas for writing harry imagines for his birthday week, smut or not dosent matter, I'll definitely write it, drop them in the ask box.

Also go check my previous writtings,links here 1.Best punishment ever. 2. Dream come true 3. Get away pt1, pt2, pt3. 4. Roommates pt1, pt2. 5. Friends!! ain't we?.

#harry styles smut #harry #harry styles dirty #harry styles #harry imagine #one directions #oneshot #one direction #stars

118 notes · View notes

thisisnotasafari · 6 years

Text

Bus Magic

Yes, that’s my bus, stuck in the mud. You try getting a better picture.

Before I begin, let me state that buses should stay flat on the ground. I think we can agree on this. Yet, ending up at wide angles with respect to horizontal is well within the realm of possibility on a Tanzanian bus. This will usually be rectified within a few hours by a team of shirtless men who show up out of nowhere to dig the bus out of thick mud or deep water or whatever obstacle in which it has entrenched itself. I swear, these guys showed up every time one of my buses got stuck. It might have been the same guys every time, I have no way of confirming. Maybe there’s a team of heroes who are dispatched to rescue stuck buses. Even on the deepest, darkest road in the most uninhabited stretch of land in southern Tanzania, they appeared at any hour with shovels and picks, and bravely struggled to dig out the tires and push the bus out of the hole into which it had plunged. Nine times out of ten, I’d say, they were successful. I was always slightly concerned I’d handed a shovel and get drafted into helping, but I remain thankful that never happened.

To set the scene: I was on the way to Mahenge after a lengthy spring holiday in Cape Town, South Africa, about which more later, but the shock of being back in Tanzania after two weeks with hot showers, strong coffee, and fast internet hadn’t fully set in. I arrived armed with the steely conviction that I would survive my last months in Mahenge as safely and happily as I could, or die in the process. It was this attitude that I assumed as I boarded the bus.

The journey started as propitiously as it could, under the circumstances. Morogoro was hot and dry, the sun stuck flat in the middle of the sky, but I knew further south the rains had come and would be in full swing by the time I arrived home. I bought my ticket the day before with surprisingly limited hassle (after I confirmed the hour of departure three times) and arrived at Msavu, the Morogoro bus stand, an hour early. After waiting for twenty minutes, the assembled crowd was told to walk across the street to a gas station. Buses pay a small fee for entering the bus stand, and as the bus was already en route from Dar, it was easier to pick up passengers at the gas station along the highway than deal with the traffic inside Msavu. Fine. The busI got on, and discovered I had two seats to myself. Enjoying my surprising luxury, I quickly assumed bus Zen mode and stared out the window, watching as the houses and people thinned and gave way to acacia and baobab and vast swaths of brown, swaying grass and clouds draped over distant mountains. Things were going well.

We departed Morogoro at 9:30 am. It was an hour or so before I saw the first dark puddles at the sides of the road. A few people had already gathered around to fill buckets with water before balancing them on their heads and walking on. As puddles go, these were small, I thought, only a few inches deep and nothing to worry about. Amateur puddles, a few years away from signing a college contract. About an hour later, the puddles had begun to spread across the road. Thin creeks tinkled under makeshift log bridges at the road’s edge. The bus slowed once or twice to ford a stream that had bisected the road and cause all of us in the back to fly out of our seats. It was an ominous development but the sun was out, the road was still paved, and I was determined to stay positive at any cost. (At the time, I was inwardly screaming at the absurdity of everything: “I want a beer, I want a pizza, I want Peanut M&Ms, I want to be off this bus, I want a bed, I want to go home.”)

At the Cape Town airport, I had purchased 1Q84, a brick of a Haruki Murakami novel, and brought it out of my bag to keep my mind occupied. I didn’t normally read on buses, it was often too bouncy and dusty, but I felt an ill-defined sense of uncertainty rising at the base of my neck, just out of reach. The fact that Murakami's novel takes place in an alternate world that often crosses over into a parallel reality seemed appropriate for my current situation.

“What if we get stuck?” a voice asked, quietly. “Where will you go? What will happen to your backpack, stowed out of reach? How will you get home? What will you eat? Do lions get hungrier during the rainy season? How long can you survive by drinking you own pee?” These are questions that used to plague me before any journey, my mind running through endless loops of contingency plans and emergency procedures. In my travels to this point, at which I’d been in Tanzania for about eight months, I’d learned to silence them, or at least to ignore them until they subsided. There was a way for everything, I knew, even if it was unpleasant or unexpected. Things were fine. They would be fine.

At about 3 pm, the bus switched with a lurch from the paved road onto the local dirt highway that stretched the rest of the way to Mahenge near the entrance to Udzungwa Mountains National Park. The park is home to the second largest biodiversity of any national park in Tanzania, and contains the magnificent 170 meter-tall Sanje Waterfalls—popular with backpackers and hikers—a glimpse of which I saw tumbling grandly down the mountain between a break in the clouds. It’s also home to a hell of a lot of water, much of which fell from the mountains and collected into rivulets that fed into larger streams along the roadside. The jungle, dense to the point of entering the bus by force and buying us dinner, was held back by the force of flowing water. A channel about four feet across flanked the road on both sides and deepened and widened as we progressed. It looked like we were driving not on a road, but on a thin, dirt-covered bridge over a vast river.

After another forty minutes of bouncing along over rutted tracks, things suddenly became not fine at all. The road curved around a hillside and disappeared. Like a river cutting through a canyon, the road, or what was left of it, was subsumed completely into a flowing mass of murky, silty mud bordered by towering walls of red clay and brown grass. The delineation between the dirt and the mire was clear: as if painted by hand, brown earth gradually gave way to black sludge for about one-hundred meters. The bus slowed to a stop. From the other direction, a Jeep heaved its way through the morass, its engine revving mightily as the tires cleaved into the ground and sprayed inky mud in every direction. I watched its progress enviously through the windshield. It eventually cleared the mud and drove past us, jauntily honking its horn as if to say, “Good luck, suckers.” At this point, everyone around me started to whisper quietly, which for Tanzanians is as close as they’ll come to true panic. I looked around at my neighbors, trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation by their expressions. One by one, they rose and began to walk toward the front of the bus. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I groaned to no one, and picked up my bag.

All of us congregated on the side of the road in the shade of some banana trees while the driver, a stout man wearing rubber sandals and a Manchester United jersey that nicely accentuated his paunch, conferred with his friends. At least, I assume they were his friends—they might have been strangers from a nearby village. Maybe they were from a nearby village but they were actually his friends, and he stopped the bus here on every journey so they all got a chance to hang out. In fact, I never had any inkling of where people appeared from on the road, or how they got there. People just seemed to appear from the tall grass, like those dead baseball players in Field of Dreams, perhaps drawn by the prospect of watching some bus drama unfold. I can imagine that was the main activity in a lot of towns.

I took a seat on a damp log, trying to keep my new black Converse shoes, fresh from Cape Town’s shopping district, from sticking in the mud. It turns out it is possible to be vain about one’s appearance even while stranded with a group of people who don’t speak your language while sitting on a log by the side of a swampy road. If I’d been in a better frame of mind, perhaps seated in a comfortable reclining chair with seven cold beers and a bag of chips, what unfolded might have been highly amusing. I would’ve recorded the entire process and submitted it to one of those TV shows that feature videos of people getting defenestrated or accidentally tossing their toddlers down a flight of stairs, with a studio audience of buffoons cackling madly in response. “Schadenfreude for Idiots” is the genre, I think. Anyway, it would’ve fit in perfectly.

I finally figured out, after spending twenty minutes waiting and listening to snippets of the conversations of people around me, that the driver asked us to leave the bus in order to lighten its weight and make it more buoyant (or so I would guess). In what seemed a strange group dynamic, even for laid-back Tanzanians, no one seemed perturbed or even slightly worried about our situation. The men quickly formed small groups as if they were socializing after church, many laughing and slapping each other on the back like they’d just found wads of cash in the tall grass instead of being forcibly removed from a sweaty bus after a truncated seven-hour journey. (If you’re counting, which I was, seven hours was the time the entire journey usually takes from start to finish. It had taken us that time to make it about a quarter of the way before we stopped.) Women quietly gathered in separate groups and spoke softly, the younger ones watching the men reverently, many using banana leaves to shade their faces. I sat on my log and continued to watch while I wiped spots of mud from my shoes.

The driver, clearly having reached an accord with his associates, boarded the empty bus and, with a theatrical roar of the engine, took off as fast as he could. “Hey dudes, watch this! I’m going to see how stuck I can get this bus and then we’ll ditch all these people and go back to town and get drunk!” he shouted out the window. After a few seconds, he accelerated sharply and turned the bus at a slight angle, hoping to skid across the mud and use the bus’s force and momentum to arrive pointed straight, more or less, on the other side. He, I’m sure, had more experience than I have piloting a two-ton metal block through waist-deep mud at high velocity, so if I ever see him again, I will admit that I didn’t do incredibly well in high school physics, so my opinion probably isn’t worth much. I do know, however, that in order to move a wheeled craft forward in a set direction, one must point the wheels to travel in that direction. It makes sense, does it not?

The front set of tires bit into the mud and held tightly, churning the bus forward with a thunderous force before succumbing to a lack of traction and spinning aimlessly as the rear wheels became mired in the tracks the front wheels had created. The weight of the bus was pulling it down into the mud, and the tires, traveling at an angle, forced themselves in deeper until they were completely stuck. The bus stopped, its front left tire spinning madly in the glare of the afternoon sun, with its nose pointed at a 15-degree angle into the ground, and the rear tires elevated slightly, so that all of the passengers, had we still been aboard, would have been dumped toward the front.

The driver hopped lightly out of the side door and landed with a splash in the mud, his feet sinking a few inches with every step. He seemed supremely unconcerned. This, I suppose, in retrospect, worked in his favor. Since most Tanzanians rarely get visibly frustrated or flustered, they’re able to shake off any failures and carry right along. There's something to be learned from that, I suppose. Life lesson: when you’re stuck in the mud, go get beers and things will be fine.

After conferencing again with his advisors, he stood for a moment and surveyed the scene, his stance suggesting, maybe only to me, the rugged determination of a prizefighter about to enter the second round. I’d like to say that everyone grew silent and apprehensively hopeful as he climbed aboard the bus, but really, no one seemed even to notice. For all I could tell, this turn in the road was our destination all along and, having successfully reached it, people were content. Maybe this was where the journey was meant to end. The thought of a lion stumbling on our party of castaways, as if a lion stumbles onto anything by chance, was arresting enough to cause me to remain stationary on the log with my head propped up on my chin. I love lions, but only in certain situations. This was not one of them. The sun bore down through a thin veil of cloud that fluttered across the cyan sky, and ripples of gauzy heat radiated up off the road in the distance.

His second attempt was more successful. After a slow start, the bus lurched ahead, jittering and shaking madly like an unbalanced washing machine, and with a great deal of pushing by the driver’s advisory council, some of them sinking to their knees in mud (part of the job, I guess) the tires gained a grip on solid ground. The small groups standing around in the shade looked up as if someone had announced that dinner was served, and made their way slowly back to the bus. We climbed aboard and in five minutes were on our way again.

The Titanic. RIP. We only made it a short distance, however, before another natural waterway hindered our progress. After successfully extricating ourselves from the first dig-out, we arrived at Ifakara and spent three hours waiting to cross the Kilombero River because the ferry was was “broken.” You’ll notice my skepticism. After watching people (it was hard to tell who were the officials and who were overzealous observers) spend two hours attempting to resuscitate a second ferry, rusted and half-sunk in the shallows along the riverbank, I found another seat in the shade of a banana tree. The rescue crews made their way to the Titanic, which is what I named the rusted ferry, in shallow canoes and rowboats before nearly capsizing in the Kilombero’s swift current. I made a game of guessing which canoe or boat would make it to the Titanic’s rusty hull first. Would it be Speedy, the showoff in the flashy red canoe? Or Baldy, making his way slowly but surely in a homemade brown rowboat? It made for an entertaining afternoon of competition.

About an hour after I sat down, Speedy and Baldy had both boarded the Titanic, but it turned out that the first ferry actually did work, and the friendly driver forgot to put the key in or wanted a break from the monotony of driving back and forth. Maybe be had an existential crisis. Maybe he suddenly realized that life is about the journey, not the destination, since his destinations were literally the same two every day. It was impossible, and indeed probably detrimental to my mental state, to know what actually happened. My resolution to remain happy and positive was shaken, but on the plus side, this delay afforded me quite a lot of time for forced relaxation and quiet contemplation.

Eventually we all climbed aboard the functioning ferry. The driver or captain or whoever, apparently still in doubt about his chosen profession, didn’t pull it close enough to the bank, forcing all of us to wade through ankle-deep water. So much for my black Converse. By some miracle we made it across the river, waited for another thirty minutes for the bus to catch up with us on the other side, and pressed on into the mountains.

We got stuck four more times over the course of the next ten hours between Ifakara and Mahenge, a trip that took one hour during the dry season. It was the same every time: the bus got wedged in waist-deep sludge the color of rusty blood, everyone climbed off and waited at the side of the road, the driver recklessly attempted to extricate himself from the mire, failed, and a group of guys with picks and shovels appeared to dig it out. I can’t confirm whether he knew all these guys, but the chances are pretty good. Maybe they have a phone tree or a Facebook group.

My favorite instance of getting stuck was at 11 pm, in complete darkness, at a point where the road narrowed drastically and the red clay soil gummed up the tires. We had once again exited the bus, as we did each time it got stuck, and were standing on the side of the road with a wall of dense forest at our backs. It was hard to see anything under the pitch black sky, but the mood was more subdued than earlier, and many people were propped up against each other dozing. The only light that filtered down through the trees was from a ghostly moon, imbuing everything with an eerie glow. It was at this moment, perhaps under the influence of the the pale moon, that an adventurous spirit stirred in me and I decided I was going to make it home. Armed with positive thinking and two working legs, nothing would stop me, I decided, not even the lack of adequate vehicular transport. Okay, maybe a lion would stop me. Or a hippopotamus. Or the fact that I’m hopeless at navigation and would probably have ended up eaten by a crocodile in the river. But I was on an adventure, god damn it, and I intended to see it through.

At that moment, cutting through the silence, I overheard someone say, “Simba atajkuja (The lion is coming),” laughing. “Simba atakuja hapa, sasa hivi! (The lion is coming here right now!)” It took a few moments for my brain to process this statement in the context of where I was and what I was doing there. What kind of reality was I living in such that the appearance of a lion in the depths of a black night made any rational sense? I had heard tales of a rogue lion patrolling this part of the jungle, roaming far outside its territory in Selous Game Reserve. I chalked it up as one of those local legends that people like to use to scare the white folks, even though I was the only one around at the moment. In actuality the lion probably wouldn’t challenge such a large group of people. At that moment, it didn’t matter. To hear someone say, “The lion is coming right now,” accompanied by a maniacal laugh, while standing by the side of a desolate, moonlit road in rural southeastern Tanzania with no means for escape—well, it’s hard not to take that seriously.

1 note · View note

goldeagleprice · 4 years

Text

Lebman Cash Hoard Coming to Auction

It was recently announced that the first-ever offering of Fr. 2100-K* 1928 Dallas $50 is being featured in Heritage Auctions’ Platinum Night Session, Jan. 9. But how did they acquire this note?

Heritage Auctions received a most unusual time capsule—a trove of bills untouched since the darkest days of the Great Depression, mysteriously divided nearly equally between currency native to its southern Texas discovery and others from nearly 1,000 miles away in Minnesota, with no bills from the various districts in between. The collection was introduced to the experts at Heritage with no hint of the intrigue that would surface, the text of the consignor’s email reading simply, “We cleaned out the Lebman’s Western Store bank box, where some banknotes from my grandfather have laid there since 1934, and we would like to bring in these banknotes for evaluation.”

The cash was stored from 1934 to the 1990s in the bank box for Hyman S. Lebman’s business. Hymie Lebman was an accomplished tradesman from San Antonio, specializing in leather works and gunsmithing. His store operated for over six decades at 111 S. Flores, less than a mile from the famed Alamo Mission. His saddles, belts, and gun holsters are prized by collectors for their high quality and artistry. But the Lebman name carried a decidedly different association for federal law enforcement officials tracking Public Enemy Number One, the notorious gangster Baby Face Nelson.

During that Golden Age of gangsters that flourished in the decade leading up to the Second World War, Lebman’s San Antonio hometown had gained a well-deserved reputation as an organized crime laundromat for stolen cash, its banks amenable to those transactions requiring a unique standard of discretion. Lebman, meanwhile, had come to the attention of those criminal enterprises as a main expert in the modification of firearms in an age when the infamous Thompson Machine Gun turned automatic weaponry into an essential tool of the trade.

The most famous of Mr. Lebman’s personal creations resides for eternity in the FBI Museum, a 1911 Colt .38 Special handgun modified with a forward grip, an extended magazine and, most importantly, fully-automatic firing capabilities. The weapon’s serial number tracks its history through Lebman’s shop to Nelson’s hands and the rain of fire on federal officers raiding the Little Bohemia Lodge in northern Wisconsin in April 1934, one of the most notorious gun battles of the decade.

This paper trail to Lebman resulted in the shock of the gunsmith’s life when federal agents raided his shop, as he professed ignorance to the identity of his client. Nonetheless, Lebman would be sentenced to five years in the Texas State Penitentiary for violations of the National Firearms Act (NFA) of 1934 and the Texas State Machine Gun Law, but those convictions were ultimately reversed on appeal.

Lebman’s son Marvin granted an interview to Man At Arms magazine in 2009, saying of his father, “He told me many stories about the customers who he later found out were John Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson. He thought they were charming, wealthy oilmen who were interested in guns, and even invited them to his house for his wife to make them dinner when I was about three or four. Our shop had a firing range in the basement, and when he was experimenting with a Model 1911 on full automatic, the third or fourth round went off directly overhead, through the floor, and I was visiting above at the time. It scared him so much that he invented and installed a compensator on the muzzle to control the recoil.”

This weapons transaction in the waning days of November 1933 came just a month after Nelson and his gang famously held up the First National Bank of Brainerd, Minn. on Oct. 23, making off with some $32,000 in cash. After days on the lamb—carousing and gambling among the underworld characters of Minneapolis-St. Paul, the robbers would flee the area, heading south to Texas with their ill-gotten gains, anxious to launder the cash and secure an arsenal for future crimes. It’s hard not to imagine that the Minnesota bills in Lebman’s lockbox found their way to San Antonio by way of the Nelson gang’s infamous southbound journey.

It is particularly intriguing that Lebman’s hidden treasure was transported to the Heritage offices in a $1,000 bank bag from the Commercial National Bank of San Antonio, with many of the $100 denomination notes wrapped in bank straps bearing its name despite the fact that no notes issued by the bank appear in the hoard. That particular financial institution was well-known to cops and robbers alike for its participation in the laundering of illicit, underworld cash.

In the same month that Nelson and his gang were operating in San Antonio, the FBI came down on Z.D. Bonner, President of the Commercial National Bank and attorney John H. Cunningham. They were arrested on Dec. 21, in connection with a brazen daytime mail robbery a year earlier. The Dec. 6, 1932 robbery netted a Chicago gang $250,000, mostly in government bonds.

At the time of their arrest, Bonner and Cunningham were in possession of $75,000 worth of the bonds traced to the Chicago robbery, $47,100 of which was in bank boxes in the Commercial National Bank. During their trial, prosecutors brought evidence forward that even more United States Bonds from a large heist in New York were also washed through the San Antonio bank and more from mail heists in Minneapolis. A total of five separate offenses of embezzlement were brought against the pair.

In a summary of Bonner v. United States, the manner in which the bonds were embezzled is made clear, “Appellants agree that on March 1, Cunningham and Morrow came to the bank and before the first bond was delivered Bonner had the cashier make out a bank draft on a branch Federal Reserve Bank in San Antonio for $100,000, and that amount of money was delivered to Bonner by the cashier in the presence of Cunningham and Morrow. After this was done, Bonner sent the bond over to the Federal Reserve and borrowed $100,000 on it. The other bonds were handled in practically the same way, except that the drafts on the Federal Reserve were for $92,500 each, although the full amount of $100,000 was borrowed on each. The cash proceeds of each draft were taken in $50 and $100 bills.” They further elaborated on the operation, “During these several bond transactions, Bonner and Cunningham each placed in safety deposit boxes over $30,000 in $50 and $100 bills.”

The Chicago and Minneapolis robberies were later connected to Roger “Tommy” Touhy, who was using Bonner, Cunningham and the Commercial National Bank of San Antonio to help launder his cash and bonds. It was under Touhy’s tutelage that Baby Face Nelson got his start. After troublesome adolescence, Nelson was hired by Touhy to help guard liquor shipments in San Francisco.

As the heat of the San Antonio investigations intensified, Lebman supplied the Feds with whatever details he could, short of the existence of this far-flung cash hoard. Just before he was executed in Ohio in 1934, Harry Pierpont, who was said to be Dillinger’s mentor, insisted that it was Lebman’s testimony that had brought the gang down. On Nov. 27, 1934, Baby Face Nelson was killed by federal agents in Langendorf Park, in what was dubbed the Battle of Barrington (Illinois).

The Cash

The approximately $16,000 in face value cash is central to a timeline of 20th-century criminal activity that changed the United States forever from firearms control to the repealing of prohibition. The timeline of the bank box being locked up in late 1933 or early 1934 is supported by the notes themselves. Not a single note in the group was from series or banknote deliveries that could have fallen after 1934. Most cash hoards are nothing exciting, providing quantities of notes, rather than quality or rarity. That is not the case here.

The first small-size National Bank Note from Moore, Texas was also buried in this safety deposit box for the last eighty-five years. Scarce $100s are reported from Texas, a Type II from Dallas, and a Type I from Vermont. More notes are classified as scarce, and some are common in comparison to normal notes absent the pedigree. Each of the notes traced to Nelson will be offered without an estimate, while the Hyman S. Lebman Cash Hoard is being offered with estimates aligned with unpedigreed notes. The premium for the story here is unknown, left to the market to price this historic offering. Additional Lebman notes are included in their Internet Session of this auction to conclude on Monday, Jan. 13.

For more information, visit www.ha.com.

The post Lebman Cash Hoard Coming to Auction appeared first on Numismatic News.

#Precious Metals

0 notes

jazzkeepswimming · 5 years

Text

Million Reasons Why

"Well, I'm back!"

It's been a year. Maybe it's that time of my life again where everything just sucks so I needed to vent. I didn't mean to make you feel that way, dear Blogger. It just so happened that life has been such a blur, and I'm really clueless what I'm supposed to do with life.

Have you ever had that feeling of wanting to puke just because you lack sleep, you felt tired and/or everything is just so overwhelming? This feeling has been so frequent for me nowadays. Basically I have to drag myself to work, even the week just started. I'm not really sure what's wrong. The last time I felt this intense, sad, anxious, empty feels was last year when I started to transition over a new job post. Everything is just so new, foreign or whatever word best describe that odd feeling wherein you feel like there are butterflies in your stomach, but not basically butterflies in some sort of a romantic and cheesy way because those freakin' butterflies are result of intense stress and pressure that makes you want to choke your breakfast from 5 days ago! Ugh!

*****

And that, my friends, was one of my drafted post way back April of 2017.

It's 3:24 A.M. June 18th of 2018.

I just remember that I still have you, my dear Blogger page. I've been contemplating writing long posts on my Facebook, just because I'm fraid what people might think about them - they may criticize the grammar, they might think that you've been overly dramatic or may be it's just me who want to keep my profile less opinionated or such.

A lot has happened for the past couple of months. Realizations hit you, emotions have been testing you but after all, it was the experiences and learning that really matter.

Sunday. This is the day that I mostly catch up with on-going Korean dramas or see movies that have been stored on my phone for quite a while. I've finally watched 'Our Times' (2015 Taiwanese Drama) and Love, Simon this Sunday. Though these two shares different life lessons, both movies took place on a high school setting, tackles story about love and how it can change you.

I cried at some scenes while seeing both films. Lately, I easily get touched and teary-eyed whenever seeing or hearing something beautiful. Maybe that is the reason why I shed tears watching both films (I also cried during Episode 8 of 'About Time'. *sobs*). Having some precious memories to look back into, the people you treasure and someone you can talk to about the past and even the present and having the time of your life - I think that made me realize that I have something that I envy on the characters on those movies (belive me. I am doing my best not to get this update into a self-pity post. Lol.)

On the contrary, I think I'm doing a great job conditioning my mind that I only need God, family and friends' love but at the end of the day you can't help but think that there's something missing inside you. But, I think self-care is the most important thing for us not to feel inferior with the people around you. I've struggled, for the longest time, finding what makes me comfortable, what makes me contented and what makes me happy. And I'm still on the process of discovering myself. Like on a diet, there will be episodes of getting back to your bad habits, overthinking, creating scenarios on your head that will not happen and even imagining morbid thoughts. There will be moments that those bad habits will even haunt you in your sleep.

Those were the bad days. Worst, to be exact.

I also got reminded at the end of watching both films that love doesn't have to be being involved in a romantic attachment with someone but love should also be about you, alone.

Self-discovery and improvement are not easy. Maybe what you've read on this post today are all cliché or story that you already know and you have read all over the internet. But what I would like to remind you is that there's hope. There's always a way to express yourself, to let go of your darkest times and most importantly to love yourself. Taking the road to self-care is not easy. There will be bumps, turns and stop-overs but what's important is that you always find the good in every turn of the wheel. You might be feeling that you have been living a life of pessimism but I believe that you can throw it away, little by little. Be your number one supporter, choose the bestest support system and stick with what will make you happy. I'm not sure if this came from a book, a song or a movie but what I always want to remind myself is that no one is in control of my happiness but me. Easier said than done right? But what I want to work on is to think of ways on how to start it before planning on how I can be consistent on doing it.

There are always a million reasons why you should love yourself. And it's either you find the right people to discover them with or set your roots and be courageous enough to explore them on your own.

I hope I can be consistent on getting back to you at least once a week, my friend. But before I wrap everything up, I would like to quote these lovely words from our Love, Simon Spier: "Everyone deserves a great love story".

- Posted June 17th of 2018 -

0 notes

rockmore-resists · 6 years

Text

Ajit Pai - We’re not DONE yet.

Well Ajit Pai did what he was sent to do and successfully led a vote to gut Net Neutrality. We knew that was his job, he has been talking about President Obama's “Heavy handed” policies and how he was going to “Roll them back” for well over a year. The FCC was stacked against us, those in favor of a free and open internet. The government has become increasingly unresponsive to our concerns, and we knew it didn't look good. What did surprise me is the brazen nature with which he has chosen to ignore the potential and likely further interference of Russian troll farms into the workings of our government. It was stunning to watch it unfold. I would expect to read about this behavior in my junior year of high school maybe, and then it was about some 'Banana Republic' over there, but not here. But yes, here. We have just witnessed another theft of American property on the part of the Republican Party. Add it to the list: Healthcare, parklands, gun safety, peace of mind... but they didn't get it easy. No, not nearly as easy as they thought they would. I am sure when this conversation turned into a plan sometime in 2016 all involved thought the American public would be so distracted we wouldn't even notice Net Neutrality slip away, and if the changes in prices and internet speed were made slowly enough, incrementally, we never would notice. But we did notice, and we have fought back with all the ferocity befitting our democracy.

The end. NO! This is not the end. But the news agencies would have us think so, wouldn't you agree? Why today is every single person with a keyboard bemoaning the death of the internet? What is wrong with our journalists which causes them to focus on this aspect of the story as if it is a forgone conclusion? We are far from done. Attorneys General from states across the union are filing lawsuits to keep the internet abiding with the necessary principle of net neutrality with which it was founded. Questions have been raised as to the bogus nature of comments made at the FCC website, some made by people that are dead? And how many more are suspected of being Russian trolls? While an army of State Attorneys General were drafting up and filing lawsuits against the oppressive FCC action, Democratic Senator Ed Markey was finalizing his plan to introduce a resolution to nullify the vote under the Congressional Review Act. Under the CRA, with enough congressional support and agreement from the President, any new federal regulatory action can be erased. Once more unto the breach my friends, once more to beat this fetid foe! We are NOT done. This is NOT the end. Aji Pai did NOT win. We have plenty of action taking place along what has become one more front in a long and drawn out civil war against American freedom on the part of big business, President Trump, Evangelical Christians, the White Nationalist *cough* Nazi movement and anyone else that stands to make money. What of the people? I know my family will be ditching every company that supported this FCC action. Most of my friends. I know we are not alone. I predict that whatever revenue or power was thought to be gained will be heavily offset by boycotts, strikes and slowdowns. The people of America have been trod upon enough, and enough is enough. Gone are the days when we let the government abuse us and said or did nothing. We are FED UP. Here is your call to action Resistance: Contact your State Attorney General today and let them know you want this action stopped. If your SGA has already filed suit, thank them and ask how you can help. If your SGA has not filed a suit against the FCC vote, tell them you want a suit filed. Get on the email and the phones and tell your Senators you want them to support Senator Markey's resolution to reverse the FCC removal of Net Neutrality.

In conclusion, I have this to say to the press: Dear Press, We need you to step up and fight for us. Please do not be swayed by the fervor of group think that allows the day to be sullied with a string of headlines that support a corporate agenda. We are at war for our country, and we need you to work together with us now. Have fervent faith in the 'long shots' because in our darkest hours, that may be all we have left. We need you to fight for us the way we are fighting for you.

America

0 notes

thesayseries · 7 years

Text

10x10: Jasmine Byrd

1. In what city were you born and what city were you supposed to be born?

I was born and raised in this glorious city—Baltimore. Actually, I love this city! I believe it adds to who I am. There is definitely a charm about “Charm city.” The charm is somewhere in between the nostalgia of the old, brick row homes and the diversity of the people. My heart is nomadic, so I am not sure if there is a city I was supposed to be born in. Any city that is alive with culture, color, and history, is a great birthplace for anyone.

2. Which do you believe, “nature” or “nurture”?

Why not, both? I believe that a person may have innate traits, but they also develop certain traits. Any adult can look back at their development and see how both nature and nurture intermingled to create who they are today. Being a mother, I can see how the two interact to develop the core of a person. My son possesses certain qualities [from] when he was born that he still possesses today. However, I take pleasure in watching him develop into his “own.” To choose a side, is to ignore the dualism of humanity.

3. I’d noticed from your online posts that you seem to love your day job. Tell me about the work that you do. How is it contributing to your larger goals and your larger body of work?

Currently, I am the Assistant Promotions Coordinator at CBS Radio Baltimore. Quite honestly, that is a self-assigned title. Literally, I started from the bottom. Last year, I just went to events and interacted with people. Now, I am the contact person for our station appearances. I create content for our websites and draft marketing proposals. Basically, I do whatever is thrown my way. I do all of this because I am hungry. It sounds cliché, but it is true. When I graduated, I slipped into one of the darkest moments in my life. Like many Millennials, I ran into the “what’s next?” period, and worst, “please hire me?!” My conversations with God became longer. During those six months, I felt God was my only confidant. My prayer requests shifted from asking God for a job to asking God for patience and humility. I could no longer take it, so I packed a month’s worth of clothes and escaped to Atlanta. When I came home, my mother told me that she knew someone at CBS Radio and I had an interview the following week. I started two weeks after that. From my first day, I promised that I would work, for the lack of better words, my ass off. And, I have. For a year, my career has been on a positive trend. What do I want to be when I grow up? Well, I want to be a media mogul. I want to be in charge of the images the next generation will consume on the television, radio, and internet. How will I get there? Well, I will get coffee when I have to like Puff, and shine like Diddy when it’s time.

4. If you could write a three sentence letter to other women giving them advice on how to excel within professional work, what would your letter look like?

Dear Women,

Don’t Give Up !

Signed,

I’ve Been There.

5. I posted a quote for my new short-story collection and I stated, “Don’t be afraid of sex. Make it art.” And, you liked it! What about it stuck out to you?

“Don’t be afraid…” Sex is a very powerful thing. And, like all powerful things it can be misused. If we are fearful of sex, we will not use it appropriately, similar to God. Sex is a very beautiful thing meant for you to feel something, similar to art. From my personal experiences, I’ve learned that sex, when used properly, can open the deepest parts of your soul. Can you imagine sharing your soul with someone in that way? That is scary! It creates soul ties that are hard to break. There are two places in my life that I feel are the most sacred: my bed and church. In each I undergo outer body experiences. There’s a line of intimacy that traces through sex, religion, and even art.

6. Do you believe that sexual chemistry comes from a physical attraction or a deeper, internal love for a person?

I believe that it is subjective. However, sex for me is a form of communication. So, I believe that great sexual chemistry comes from a deep, internal love and understanding for a person. When I am making love to my partner, I am saying to them what I cannot express in words. If I fall in love with you, chances are you showed me your soul.

7. Beyoncé calls herself a feminist. There’s debate to her statement. It is said that her lyrics and her stage-wear goes against that idea. Do you think “selling-sex” is a product of women-empowerment or male-domination?

Gloria Steinem says, “Feminism has never been about getting a job for one woman. It's about making life more fair for women everywhere. It's not about a piece of the existing pie; there are too many of us for that. It's about baking a new pie.” If Beyoncé is comfortable on stage with her pie gyrating and selling it, I can’t debate against that. I don’t know what goes on in her mind. Maybe, the woman is truly comfortable with her sexuality. For me feminism is about a woman truly being herself without any societal hindrances. What makes the “feminist” who claims Beyoncé should cover up better than the man who wants to exploit her sexuality? Modesty at one point was forced on us, too. I don’t quite know if I’m a feminist, yet. I stand for women’s empowerment. And, I’ll call myself feminine for every negative and positive connotation that comes with it.

8. “I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches.”-Alice Roosevelt Longworth What’s your simple philosophy?

Pray. Simple enough ? That’s the first thing I do when I wake and the last thing I do before I sleep.

9. Your Breasts or Your Data Plan?

Are we asking which I would rather have more of? If so, I don’t have much of both… and I do quite fine. I am not very tech savvy. As long as I can use my GPS, Google, and Instagram, I am good to go. As far as my breasts, every now and again I think about breast augmentation. I breastfed my son for a year and they are mutilated. However, I am not very insecure about them either. I walk around naked because the best way I know how to get over a flaw is to embrace it. Plus, I have a mouthful …so if no one is complaining, neither am I.

10. Do you think you can have selflessness without selfishness?

I think naturally people are selfish. If you aren’t selfish, how will you assure that you are taken care of? It is a must to put yourself first, because at the end of the day you see to your survival. With that being said, if I already have a shirt on my back and food in my stomach, then I am giving you the rest.

#feminism #sexuality #blackgirlmagic #technology #selfishness #writing #talks #tedtalk mother

0 notes